


Ho Hey

by mardemaravilla



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, FC Chelsea, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardemaravilla/pseuds/mardemaravilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're my sweetheart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ho Hey

**Author's Note:**

> Are songfics still even a thing? x_x Anyway, because [Juan tweeted a photo of his iPad](https://twitter.com/juanmata10/status/277118615541673984/photo/1) playing [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvCBSSwgtg4) and I want to believe that this is the actual context of the song.

_Ho._

_Hey._

 

“I’ve been trying to do it right,” Juan says. There are tears in his blue eyes and Fernando’s heart is breaking at the sight of them. The dark-haired man continues, “I’ve been living a lonely life.”

Fernando knows. Juan moved away from his family at the age of 15 to play football in Madrid. He’s sacrificed so much to have the life that he has now, and still, it’s not enough because he can’t have the one thing he truly wants above all others.

The blond wraps his arms around Juan and lets the shorter man exhale his misery against his chest.

 

_I’ve been sleeping here instead. I’ve been sleeping in my bed._

 

Fernando is in his home in Surrey. Recently, he hasn’t been staying in the building he shares with Juan because it hurts too much whenever he bumps into his friend in the elevator. The sadness in those blue eyes mars their beauty and it kills the blond to know that it’s because of him.

 

_So show me family; all the blood that I would bleed._

 

Fernando tucks Nora and Leo into bed and watches as his children fall asleep. He watches Nora’s cheeks puff out gently and he thinks of the way Juan loves pressing kisses to the chubby flesh, grinning with delight when Nora squeals that his beard tickles. Fernando’s heart clenches and he turns his gaze to his son. Leo snores gently and Fernando can’t help but run his fingers through the toddler’s hair. Juan’s hair is similar; soft and dark, although wavier and thicker than that of the little boy curled in sleep. It hurts to want Juan the way he does. Fernando’s heart pumps the ache around his body until every vein throbs with the anguish of being in love with someone he can never truly have.

 

“I don’t know where I belong. I don’t know where I went wrong,” Juan shakes his head and presses his face into the blond’s shoulder. He takes deep breaths of Fernando’s scent and embraces him tightly.

Fernando presses his nose into Juan’s hair, whispering apologies and pressing kisses along the midfielder’s hairline. _I can write a song_ , Fernando thinks. He could pour his whole heart into notes and lyrics and let the whole world hear just how much this man means to him. He idly fantasises about asking his friend Dani to record it for him before he shakes his head at the idea. He’s no good with music and he’s sure that there is no word or phrase in any language on Earth that is enough to tell Juan just how much he loves him.

That doesn’t stop him from trying, though.

“I belong with you.”

“You belong with me,” Juan murmurs in reply.

Fernando strokes the soft beard of the midfielder’s face, “You’re my sweetheart.”

Juan smiles at the endearment and is in the middle of reciprocating it when Fernando seals their mouths together.

“You’re my sweet--”

 

_Ho._

_Hey._

 

Every time Juan spends time with Fernando’s family, he has to bite his tongue. He resists the urge to corner Olalla and say _I don’t think you’re right for him_. He doesn’t though. He can’t. Although it causes an ache to settle in his bones, seeing the man he loves interact with his family is something that fills Juan’s heart with joy and adoration.

“Look at what it might have been,” Olalla laughs in middle of telling a story to her husband, “If you took a bus to Chinatown…”

Juan lets his imagination fill in the rest of the scene: _I’d be standing on Canal and Bowery. She’d be standing next to me_ and Fernando would descend from the bus, shake his head at his wife, turn to Juan and smile and say “ _I belong with you. You belong with me._ ”

Nora climbs into Juan’s lap and he holds the little girl close in an attempt to soothe his sore heart.

“You’re my sweetheart,” he tells her, and Fernando chews his lip on the other side of the room because he knows those words are meant for him too.

 

Juan unties his boots and Fernando sits next to him in the locker room after practice, breathing in the smell of grass and sweat on Juan’s skin. Their teammates are still bustling around the room, half-naked and in no hurry to shower or dress. Fernando only has eyes for Juan though, which is something that makes the small man’s heart soar, especially when he compares himself to men like César and David, who are taller and more muscular than he is.

“Love,” Fernando whispers quietly. Juan glances around to makes sure no-one else has heard.

They’ve got a big game tomorrow and Juan knows that Fernando is nervous. He puts his hand onto the striker’s knee and tries to calm the freckled man. He wants so very much to hold Fernando close, to press their mouths together and tell him that he’s amazing, on and off the pitch; as both a player and a human being.

Instead, he squeezes the knee beneath his palm and kindly reassures him that in spite of whatever the media says, he’s still Fernando Torres, still capable of all the feats that earned him worldwide acclaim.

“We need it now,” he says encouragingly. Fernando nods and appreciates Juan’s belief in him. 

“Let’s hope for some,” the striker says, and Juan doesn’t move his hand from Fernando’s knee, only rubs small circles on the soft inside of the joint as he toes his boots off carefully.

They shower and change and Fernando sits in the passenger seat as Juan drives them back to their riverside apartment building. The drive is silent and when Juan unlocks his front door, it’s a matter of moments before they’re peeling each other’s clothes off and stumbling towards the bedroom.

As Juan sinks into him, Fernando trails his fingers across the sweaty skin of his lover. Their sweat blends and pools together on Fernando’s chest, and the blond arches into the slow, steady thrusts of the man he loves. When he comes, Fernando clutches at Juan’s skin and cries out the Asturian’s name. Juan comes undone above Fernando and presses a kiss to his lover’s neck, careful not to leave any marks.

They lie together afterwards, panting and sated, and Juan feels the sting of his sweat getting into the five small crescents Fernando’s nails have carved into the skin over his heart. He hisses and sighs a little as Fernando presses his lips to the gouges and apologies quietly.

Juan runs a hand through Fernando’s sweaty blond hair and he shakes his head. _We’re bleeding now_ , he thinks. And it makes sense, because Fernando’s the one inadvertently hurting him, but still trying his damnedest to make it all better.

They’ll settle for this; sneaking around behind their teammates’ backs, hoping not to get caught by their families and friends. They’ll settle for it because being without each other is worse than never knowing when the next kiss is. Having to watch from afar is more painful than the cold sheets Juan wraps himself in at night, or the casual way Olalla talks about Juan, as though he’s not the owner of Fernando’s heart and soul.

Having Juan is better than anything in the whole world, and loving Fernando is better than everything in the entire universe. And being together in secret is much better than nothing at all.

“I belong with you.”

“You belong with me.”

They lean in to kiss, and whisper the same words into each other’s mouths.

“You’re my sweetheart.”

 

_Ho._

_Hey._


End file.
